Walking in Beauty

This is my second contribution to:

The 750 Word Project 2024

When I walk, I walk in beauty. It's an aura I think. Something I give to others. A gift. But, for me, maybe closer to a curse. I know, poor me. Poor pretty me. It's such an awful thing. I've heard the sarcasm before; a hundred times. Spare me, please.

You see me. But do you? Do you really see me? Or do you see beauty, not a person? Do you see, and then avert your eyes? Not wanting to give offense. Not wanting to smile in acknowledgement of another of your species. Or -- worse -- do you look surreptitiously. Under hooded eyes, or through darkened glasses; thinking your gaze undetectable? I feel your eyes still. You are that obvious.

It's a gift. Hundreds would kill to be in my shoes. But they have never walked in them. I'm not blind. I own a mirror. Tall, I know. Graceful, it has been said. Hair that seems to know just how to fall over my alabaster shoulders. My face? Timeless grace was one phrase used. I can recognize symmetry. I can see purity of line. Delicacy of form.

I should be thankful. Thankful for ruby lips. Thankful for sculpted features. Thankful for breasts that swell as if fighting containment, yet still match my frame to perfection. Thankful for legs that have no end. I know I'm a ten. I've been told before. Many times. Be grateful you ingrate.

But inside? Inside is me. Seldom does anyone see that. Seldom does anyone ask about that. I know. Whiny, narcissistic princess. Drama queen. Entitled bitch. Problems that most would kill to have. I get it. I really do. But still...

Beauty attracts. Lengthy stares, traversing me up and down. Sizing me up. Looking for the flaws. Clinical assessment. Not warm "hellos." I'm different. Inaccessible. An objet d'art, prized by collectors. Prized by those who can afford such luxuries. Made to be put on display. In a cabinet. Adorning an arm. Sharing my beauty. Conferring it on others.

Beauty begets jealousy. Those who hold it think short-term. They have eyes that constantly scan for threats. They question. They ask who you have spoken to, and about what. They see beauty inevitably slipping away to others in the most everyday things. Innocent interactions, seen through a lens of potential loss. Insecurity that erodes relationships. Imposter syndrome. How could I have beauty? It's only a matter of time. It will find something better. And so fears become reality. Beauty driven away, lest it leave of its own accord.

Then loneliness. I know you cannot understand. Beauty can have what it wants. You don't have to work with a face like that. The reality is beauty isolates. Insulates. Cuts you off. Marks you as something else. Look but don't touch. Look but don't hold.

And even intimacy. Is it real? Is it me, or the image of me he wants? Is it me, or the bragging rights to others. Is it the envy in the eyes of onlookers? The warm congratulations for playing out of your league? Like there is a league with designated players. Beauty is a trophy. A medal awarded for bravery, or success. Something you celebrate winning. Not having and holding.

And there are those who would steal beauty. Want it for themselves alone. It's happened. Mostly little things. Lots of tiny cuts. One deep dagger wound. Not only the beautiful are knifed. I'm not that self-centered. But I know why he chose me. What he wanted. What he took. And what he left behind. It wasn't beautiful.

The outside heals. You can't see a thing there. The outside is cool detachment. Or Ice Queen. Or arrogant bitch. A matter of perspective. Inside is one moment raging. Another so still and silent. Striving to be invisible. Striving to disappear.

Beauty may disguise damage. It does nothing to heal it. It blocks the human touches that could piece things together again. It signals that you are fine. Beauty is a horrible liar.

But surely this is indulgence? Beauty is a blessing. God favors those in whom Her likeness is displayed most closely. But it's not a vaccine. It doesn't make you immune from hurt. It's not a shield. It doesn't protect you from harm. And when it attracts, it attracts everything. Good and bad. And it cuts you off. Aloof. Ethereal. Not of this world. A look to covet. Not flesh to desire. Not a heart to cherish. No matter how insistently mine beats.

THE END

This story is based on a 750 word-themed challenge I set on X / Twitter. I posted an image of a woman and prompted Literotica authors to write her story. This is my attempt to meet my own challenge.